


Noms de Guerre

by Fadefox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadefox/pseuds/Fadefox
Summary: On a quiet evening, Anders and Fenris talk names.





	Noms de Guerre

**Author's Note:**

> And another old thing.

"How long has ' _Anders_ ' existed?"

The man in question stops smoothing out wrinkles in a freshly laundered bandage and looks up in bewilderment at the elf idly wandering around the room.

"Are you asking my age or is that a philosophical question?"

"Perhaps. Is it?"

A purple liquid that stands out from the mage's collection of blue, green and red potions and tonics has caught Fenris' attention. He picks up and uncorks the bottle to sniff at it, only to twist his face in disgust and quickly recork it.

Silence hangs over the empty clinic as he returns the flask and he realises the mage is still staring at him.

"It is not what your parents have named you, I would wager."

Anders rolls his eyes and returns to the task at hand, finally getting the question.

"That would have been like naming a dog ' _Dog_ '. Whoever would do such a thing? The poor thing would get so confused about its identity. And feel like strangers are talking about it all the time."

Fenris can't help but smirk at the jibe at Hawke, who has the biggest heart in the world but does lack severely in creativity. And then at the fact that the other has basically just handed him a handwritten invitation to poke fun at him for drawing parallels between himself and a dog.

His amusement ends an instant later when he realises it's all too perfect and the corners of his mouth drop again.

"Stop."

The bandage is abandoned once more and the blond looks up again, brows furrowing.

"I need these done by tomorrow, there aren't any left! If you would rather-"

"The deflecting, not the bandages," he clarifies. As if there is any chance Fenris would be talking about those. As if Anders doesn't know.

The blond sighs in defeat. They've been here before, quite a few times now. Rolling up the strip of cloth he finally answers.

"About fifteen years. It's a circle thing."

"I have never heard of the circle stripping mages of their names."

"Not like that. Surprising as it is they're usually satisfied with taking aways our freedom and civil rights. Oh, and dignity, that's an important one. Dignity apparently makes you a danger to society."

This stubborn habit of subtly making a conversation exactly about what he is comfortable with is one of the things about the man that aggravate Fenris the most. Trying to restrict him to a topic he dislikes feels like leading a horse along a trail between lush pastures: He keeps straying.

Probably much to the mage's dismay Fenris isn't going off on the tangent so invitingly laid out for him. His curiosity wins this round.

"So you renamed yourself then?"

A sour look is thrown his way, punishment for not playing along. Fenris feels proud of his focus for a moment until he sees annoyance change into distress.

"No. When I got there - I was... scared. And angry. Maker, I was twelve. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't talk, refused to answer any questions. They had to make do with what little information they had on me, which was limited to "set something on fire", "kicked Biff in the shin" - and my father's strong Anders accent. Since I wouldn't tell them my name they went with that. I guess I hoped keeping quiet would frustrate them enough to let me go."

Anders places the rolled-up bandage in the basket to his right and suddenly beams at Fenris, frighteningly bright, as he picks up the next loose rag from the left. "Ah, the hopeful minds of innocent children!"

The elf merely grimaces.

"And you never objected to being referred to as 'Anders'? I assume you did eventually give in to talking, it is too hard to imagine otherwise."

At least that gets rid of the sick, over-the-top expression on Anders' face, smoothing it into a more relaxed smirk as his fingers trail over the rim of the fabric he's handling.

"I did, yes. Give in to talking, I mean. But by then I was so fed up with that place I decided they were not worthy of finding out my real name. They didn't treat me like a person, why bother with a name? Besides-"

When the mage interrupts himself and doesn't continue, Fenris turns around from the shelf he was inspecting to poke at the silence.

"Besides...?"

"Mh? Nothing. Ah, how rude of me. Do you want tea? I'm being a terrible host today, aren't I. There should still be some left from earlier - Maker, where did I put the teapot, I could swear it was-"

The bandage has dropped from his hand in his sudden frantic gesturing around the room, the formerly neat package rolling across the floor, unravelling.

He's not even trying for subtlety in his diversions anymore at this point and to Fenris' surprise he's not as disappointed by the lack of effort as he is unsettled that his questioning got the mage this agitated. Any moment now he'll grow pointy ears and vallaslin and turn completely into Merrill to match his rambling.

For obvious reasons Fenris has a personal interest in keeping the number of blood mages in his vicinity as low as possible. Sighing he drops down to the floor next to Anders, who _finally_ shuts up, and picks up the abandoned bandage from his lap, resuming the work for him.

His own hands twitching uselessly in his lap, the mage watches him work in silence. When Fenris has finished two more bandage rolls he speaks again, voice quiet and pensive this time.

"After all I'd seen and heard in the tower... Mages being made tranquil, others losing their minds from how they were treated... I never wanted to lose everything I am. They could take me from my home, lock me up, take away my rights - who knew what else they would do. If I wouldn't one day wake up and not remember a single thing about myself, nothing besides the circle at all."

When Fenris lays out the next bandage over his crossed legs Anders reaches for it and rolls it up instead, occupying his still fidgety hands.

"As long as they called me ' _Anders_ ' I figured I'd at least remember part of my origin. Whatever good that does." He laughs out, without humour. "I don't care one bit for the Anderfels. Terrible place, really. And terrible locals; way too grumpy. Honestly, you may not believe it but I'm actually good advertisement for my people compared to the average Anders."

Fenris believes it.

"This is the first time I have heard you refer to anyone but other mages as 'your people'."

"Other mages didn't turn me over to the templars."

His guest focuses on diligently wrapping up another piece of cloth instead of commenting. That's a story for another day. Or one that is better left alone altogether, he isn't sure. It has come up before and the last time it did the mage suddenly remembered an important errand he needed to run and stormed off, leaving Fenris standing alone, and dumbfounded, in the clinic with only some nasty-smelling concoction over the fire for company - which had started boiling over an instant later. Fenris is still new to this, can't always tell how much is _too_ much yet.

Next to him, Anders sighs and for once returns to topic on his own, choosing the lesser of two evils.

"Anyway, it was a piece of identity, something they couldn't take from me unless they'd rename me. And you're right about that, it's not something they usually do, way too much paperwork."

When he catches the mage grinning from the corner of his eye he allows himself to do the same.

"And later... It was... like-," Anders begins, then shakes his head and starts over, trying a different approach.

"You never once asked us to call you ' _Leto_ ' since you found out that used to be your name."

Fenris' head jerks up when the conversation is suddenly about him. For a brief moment he's about to chide Anders for distracting again but then he realises there may be a point to this particular divergence.

"It is... not who I am anymore. It would not feel right."

"Even though ' _Fenris_ ' is the name given to you by someone you hate so much."

"Hated," Fenris corrects, using every opportunity to remind himself that Danarius is no more and revel in the last memory of him, a messy puddle on a dirty floor, "but it makes no difference. He made me what I am now, whether I like it or not."

Counting the finished bandages, Anders nods thoughtfully.

"Yes. Exactly."

When he looks in his direction it's at the last bandage in Fenris' hands, not his face.

"Some things are... irretrievably lost. And you can't just will them back into existence. Life leaves its marks and it's pointless to deny that by using labels we have outgrown."

The elf stills in his motions. There's a stray memory of a young red-headed girl in his mind, calling him by his childhood name as they chase across a field, painted golden by the low sun. Of rare laughter long gone. The memory of her still stings deep within his chest.

"I understand."

"You would," Anders says quietly and for a moment Fenris wants to ask if he has a sister too, or a brother. He doesn't. Knows the answer anyway, because ' _Anders_ ' doesn't have a family any more than ' _Fenris_ ' does. It is better that way, too.

He tucks in the end of the strip and holds it out to the mage.

When Anders takes the bandage from him there's that warm something in his eyes, in the smile he gives in return, that makes Fenris keep coming back here lately. They don't speak of it, maybe never will because it's just a tiny and fragile thing, really, and it's unlikely to survive the violence with which they still clash sometimes, but neither of them seems to be willing to let go of it at the moment.

Fenris averts his eyes when it becomes too much, clears his throat as he gets to his feet and brushes a lot of imaginary and a bit of real dust off his tunic.

"I should go."

On the floor, Anders hums his agreement before rising as well, the full basket in hand. He pauses, shooting Fenris a teasing sideways look.

"Got a shapely exotic treat waiting for you at home?"

For once the elf gladly accepts the diversion and relaxes a little, mouth curling into a grin.

"Several of them, even. They are lining up to meet me."

Anders laughs as he crosses the room to shelve the bandages.

"Well, be gentle with the beauties then. It's so disgraceful when they end up in pieces all over your floor."

They treat names like the scars that made them what they are, Fenris muses as he watches the mage work, wrapped up in his voluminous coat even in his own home. He turns both into tools, a warning to his foes, a threat, while Anders has dedicated himself to careful and thorough concealment. If one is a better option than the other he can't tell.

After seeing to his supplies the blond returns to show him to the door, hesitates a moment with his hand on the handle before opening it.

"Fenris... thank you."

The elf shifts his weight, inspecting the fascinating details of the clinic floor.

"You... do need those bandages," he says. As if he doesn't know.

Anders remains quiet, like he has no words left for tonight.

The night air is cool against his face as Fenris steps outside the clinic, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark, retracing shapes and details with more clarity.

"Anders," he says, looking back once more, and it tastes a little bitter on his tongue now.

"Fenris."

Do the others ever feel strange calling him by a name they know his former master assigned to him?

"Would you tell me what it was, if I were to ask?"

Leaning against the doorframe, Anders smiles his widest smile, chin tilted up.

"Never."

"I expected no less," Fenris chuckles and, with a last nod to the mage, turns to leave.

As he climbs up the stairs to Hightown under a cover of starlight he can't help but wonder whether there isn't perhaps more to the mage's hysteric comment from earlier than they are willing to admit. Maybe it is, in a way, about preserving the innocence of their childhoods as if it was entrapped in their old names, to keep from soiling them with who - or _what_ \- they have become.

They'd have to be fools of course, to believe there really was such justice in the world.

To pretend that, by some divine means, in some other reality, a stubborn young Tevinter elf - so wilful and smug adults despair over him but always standing up for his friends - and an energetic blond Anders child - far too clumsy to be of any help on the family farm but so quick with his mind and tongue he can charm his way out of punishment each time he breaks something - can live their lives as free and happy as they deserve, if in exchange their counterparts here shoulder the burden of their less than glorious existence alone.


End file.
